


my hips keep rocking as we keep lip-locking

by the_chaotic_lesbian



Series: requests [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Caspar von Bergliez, Consensual Mind Control, Consensual Non-Consent, M/M, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Praise Kink, Top Linhardt von Hevring, its very blink and youll miss it tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_chaotic_lesbian/pseuds/the_chaotic_lesbian
Summary: “Okay. Okay.” Linhardt takes a deep breath. “So let me get this straight. You want me to… put this potion into something you’d consume, make you… mindless, and then use you?”“Yeah!” Caspar gives him a sheepish little smile. “It’s uh. A fantasy of mine? To be controlled and ordered around. And I know you Lin. I trust you. You wouldn’t have me do anything I wouldn’t like.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~or, linhardt's allowed to be bossy sometimes.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: requests [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898806
Comments: 1
Kudos: 78





	my hips keep rocking as we keep lip-locking

**Author's Note:**

> a commission for my lovely friend raven (@ravensique on twitter, go follow her for the best casphardt art!) who wanted casphardt with consensual mind control and tophardt! i hope I delivered it well :) enjoy!
> 
> title from "problem" by natalia kills

“I’m sorry,” Linhardt stares at the vial pressed into his hands, blinking profusely, “you want to…  _ what? _ ” 

Caspar had approached him with all the nervous energy of a twelve year old, carrying some vial that he had stolen from Hubert’s office. Linhardt would be proud of him on any other occasion, but right now he’s mostly just confused. 

“I uh,” Caspar is still fidgeting awkwardly, his cheeks flushed red, “I overheard Hubert talking about this with, uh, Ferdie, and I thought... I wanted…  _ argh _ , this is so difficult.” 

“Slow down, Caspar,” Linhardt instructs, amusedly. Caspar complies, sucking in a deep breath before he continues. 

“I want you to like... “ he stares pointedly at the vial, “put that in my food, or drink, or something, and then use me.” 

“What does this do, exactly?” 

“It like... “ Caspar glances away again, and he’s still blushing. It’s adorable, and Linhardt can’t help the fond little smile on his face. “It um. Makes you brainless. Where you only follow orders. And stuff.” 

“Okay.  _ Okay. _ ” Linhardt takes a deep breath. “So let me get this straight. You want me to… put this potion into something you’d consume, make you…  _ mindless,  _ and then use you?” 

“Yeah!” Caspar gives him a sheepish little smile. “It’s uh. A fantasy of mine? To be controlled and ordered around. And I know you Lin. I trust you. You wouldn’t have me do anything I wouldn’t like.” 

That’s a lot of power in Linhardt’s hands, and he swallows. “And you’re sure about this? I could use you however I’d like.” 

“I’m sure.” Caspar reaches for his free hand, and Linhardt allows him to take it easily, as the other clutches the… mind-control potion. That Hubert had crafted. Does Linhardt really want to know why Hubert has such a thing? No, not really. 

“Okay.” He could do this. Caspar  _ wants  _ this. And that’s the most important thing; Linhardt would do just about anything for Caspar, so he can do this easy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Linhardt laces the vial’s contents into Caspar’s training water bottle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not immediately noticeable. After all, Caspar is training, and he doesn’t even suspect anything of Linhardt joining him in the training hall with a book in hand. This is a common enough occurrence that Caspar doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even think twice about it, and Linhardt can’t help the little smile that he directs at his book. 

He’s still nervous about this. Being bossy and dominant is so easy for him, but rarely does he have the energy for it, and he’s used to his Caspar, who is eager and tends to focus on himself and  _ loud _ and oh so vocal. He’s not entirely sure what to expect, but he had prepared fairly well, he thinks. Choosing a day where he has the energy for whatever endeavors he’s in the mood for, waiting for a time whenever Caspar won’t even notice the potion. 

It feels strange. But Caspar wants this. So Linhardt will give it to him. 

He’s half-heartedly reading his book - some romance novel that Dorothea had recommended, and he’d only touched to get ideas - whenever Caspar finally touches his water bottle. His boyfriend - fiance, Linhardt reminds himself, they’ve promised to get married after the war - is sweating something fierce, a rag thrown over his shoulder, and he greedily gulps at the water with no idea that it could be tainted. 

Linhardt doesn’t know what to expect. This is one of Hubert’s potions, it could be anything. However,  _ because  _ he doesn’t know what to expect, watching Caspar shift from focused to something more dreamy is… amusing. Entertaining. 

“Caspar,” he calls, curiously. 

Caspar turns to look at him, and though there’s not much visible difference, Linhardt can tell that the potion’s done its magic by the way his eyes look, empty and cloudy. 

_ It’s time.  _

“Caspar,” he repeats, firmly, “training’s over. Follow me.” 

His Caspar would put up a fight about that. His Caspar would argue that training’s not over until he says so, demand that Linhardt allow him to stay longer. 

This Caspar just dips his head in the slightest nod and follows him. 

Linhardt leads him back to their shared dorm room. In the wake of a war, Edelgard had given them total control over the monastery, and Caspar had, in his boundless enthusiasm, knocked down the wall between Linhardt’s room and Petra’s, since Petra and Dorothea both had moved upstairs and taken over rooms previously owned by nobles that were no longer here. 

So their room is bigger, and they had moved the beds together to make something that they could both fit on easily, and it’s been nice, living with Caspar. Even nicer now, knowing that he has all the room in the world for what he’s gotten planned. 

He leads them into the room, shuts and locks the door behind him. The only other person with a first floor dorm nowadays is Bernadetta, and she’s spent more and more time with Edelgard that he doesn’t really worry much about it. Even if she is in her room, it’s several rooms down, and surely she won’t overhear anything. 

And even if she does, he can’t say he minds. 

“Sit down,” he instructs. Caspar does so, plopping onto the bed. He’s not wearing much, shirtless from training, only wearing a simple pair of pants and his boots. Linhardt’s still fully robed, and he intends to use that to his advantage. 

“Good boy,” he coos, and it’s so  _ weird  _ whenever the praise doesn’t do anything to Caspar. He doesn’t perk up the same way he normally does, and that’s going to make this so difficult, but Linhardt will persevere. 

He shrugs off the heaviest of his robes, fumbling with the clasps. He doesn’t trust Caspar to do it, his fiance’s hands are far too large and far too clumsy to get the pins off the right way even with his mind intact. 

It leaves him in nothing but his white collared shirt and teal high-waisted pants, and Linhardt reaches up to lazily undo his bun, tugging the ribbon loose. He gathers the long strands in his fist, retying the ribbon to contain all of his hair in a messy bun. Not all of it stays, strands fall over his face, and he has to tuck them behind his ear. 

“Okay,” he takes a deep breath, shifts into a different mindset. He can do whatever he wants now, but he’d never make Caspar do something he wouldn’t do on a normal day. “Undress me.” 

Caspar moves, mindlessly tugging at his shirt. Linhardt stretches his arms up, allowing Caspar to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. Next are the pants, and Caspar yanks them down with all of his strength. It’s nearly enough to tear the poor things, but Linhardt has several extra pairs folded in his drawer just in case anyways, so he doesn’t really mind. 

And he’s not wearing any underwear underneath the pants, so now he’s fully naked. It’s a state he’s been in numerous times with his fiance, but this time feels different. There’s no hunger in Caspar’s eyes, just a blank empty stare, and Linhardt has to pointedly look away. 

“On your knees,” he orders. 

Caspar drops to his knees. 

Linhardt’s not hard, not yet. He needs to change that. So he takes himself in hand, and then smirks. 

“Open your mouth. Relax your throat.” 

It’s almost amazing how easily Caspar obeys, his mouth falling open so easily. It’s almost laughable, the way Linhardt’s able to guide his dick into his mouth, and he sighs in relief. 

And Caspar’s never had much of a gag reflex. Linhardt knows, he’s tested the limits before, so he has no qualms about reaching down to fist at Caspar’s hair, guiding his head. Back and forth, his mouth is sinfully warm and pleasant and he moans. 

“You’d be enjoying this so much if you were awake,” he whispers, as Caspar takes his cock all the way into his throat, swallows around it, “you love pleasing me so much, you would absolutely love this.” 

Caspar doesn’t respond. Linhardt’s not expecting him to. He is, however, swallowing and sucking the way the normal Caspar would, and just the little sign that his Caspar is still there, buried underneath the potion, eases Linhardt’s nerves. 

“Fuck,” he groans, as Caspar sucks in just the right way, and it’s entirely too much. He’ll come far too fast like this, so he backs up himself, releasing Caspar’s head and falling out of his mouth. And saints, the sight of Caspar with that blank stare, mouth parted slightly, spit dribbling down his chin, lips red and puffy, is far too delectable. 

“Stand up,” he says, and as soon as Caspar is back on his feet, he presses forward in a greedy, desperate kiss. Except Caspar doesn’t kiss back, and Linhardt groans. “Kiss me,” he has to order, and then Caspar is kissing him back, tongue flicking against his mouth, and Linhardt groans again. 

It’s just different without the passion that Caspar normally shows. Linhardt pulls away after a couple of seconds, runs his hands along Caspar’s bare chest, and swallows. His fiance is the most handsome man Linhardt has ever had the pleasure of meeting, and he’s met  _ lots  _ of very handsome men. 

“Goddess, look at you,” he coos, trailing his hands down Caspar’s chest. Caspar doesn’t react more than a light shiver at the touch. “Look at all that muscle. You’re so strong. So perfect.” He rubs a finger over one pert nipple, watches the way Caspar’s face twitches in pleasure. 

Briefly, Linhardt wonders if his Caspar can hear him, can understand him beyond commands. He has no idea. He probably should’ve researched the potion just a little bit more, but it’s too late for that now. 

“Take your pants off,” he commands, stepping away from his absolutely gorgeous chest for a moment. Caspar shoves them off so quickly, leaving him bare with only underwear on. Linhardt pauses, debates, and then steps forward to tug the briefs down himself, watching the way the clothes pool around his ankles. 

“Can you speak?” He wonders, aloud, pressing his hands back to Caspar’s chest. “Hmmm… Caspar, tell me how much you love me.” 

“I love you,” Caspar answers, obediently, and for a moment there’s a spark of  _ something  _ in his eyes. “So much.” 

It sounds so robotic, but Linhardt will take what he can get. 

“I want you to be loud. Understood?” Caspar doesn’t move at all at the instruction, just blinks, and Linhardt sighs. “Nod if you understand.” It earns him a small, stiff nod, and he smiles. 

“You can be a good boy for me.” He gestures towards the bed. “Now lay down. Bottom up, for me.” 

Caspar walks over to the bed, lays down. He buries his face in the pillows, ass out on display, and if Linhardt weren’t turned on before he’s practically salivating now. 

“I have something for you,” he purrs, and he digs through the box of toys that he had shamelessly purchased, last time he went into town by himself. He pulls out a fancy studded collar, skips back over to the bed. 

“So that the entire world knows that you’re mine,” he bends over to loop the collar around Caspar’s neck, clasping it shut. “You love being mine, don’t you?” 

For a moment, Caspar doesn’t answer, and Linhardt frowns. 

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he reaches down, prepares himself, and then slaps Caspar’s ass. It leaves a bright red handprint, and goddess, it’s such a wonderful sight. 

Caspar inhales sharply. “I do,” he answers, stiffly. 

“Good boy.” Linhardt pauses for a moment, wondering what he should do next. Oh, there’s so much that he  _ could  _ do, things he’d like to try out with Caspar that would normally earn a protest. 

He perches on the bed next to Caspar’s glorious ass, and he presses his hand over the still-red mark he’d left. He doesn’t normally hit hard enough to leave a mark, but Caspar likes it whenever he does have his mind, so Linhardt doesn’t feel guilty. 

_ I trust you, _ Caspar had said. 

Linhardt reaches towards the side drawer, where he keeps the oil. It’s a bit of a stretch for his arms, and he grits his teeth, but he manages it anyways. 

He doesn’t top very often. Most of the time, he’s far too exhausted, too drained to do more than allow Caspar to finger him open and fuck him with all the energy his fiance has. And oh, he does love it when Caspar fucks him, but sometimes he prefers this. Prefers being in control, in charge. 

He dips two of his fingers in the oil, presses one of them at Caspar’s entrance, and then hesitates. How much control does Caspar have over his voice? How mechanical are his words? 

“Beg for it,” he commands, dipping the tip of his finger past the ring of muscle before pulling it right back out. “Beg for my fingers.” 

“ _ Please, _ ” Caspar gasps, needy and desperate. Linhardt is actually impressed. “I want your fingers, please, give me your fingers…” 

“Good boy.” Linhardt slips his first finger in, admiring the way Caspar’s ass just sucks the digit inside. 

This is new for him as well. On every other occasion that Linhardt’s topped, Caspar would open himself up, just to spare Linhardt the work. So this - watching his finger slide in and out of Caspar, entranced - is new, and he likes it. He likes it a lot, actually. 

And Caspar’s not speaking, not doing much of anything, but he trembles and his hips shake with the effort not to buck into Linhardt’s finger, and it’s  _ hot.  _

Amazingly hot. Linhardt’s sure he’s drooling. 

He adds a second finger, figures it’s probably all Caspar needs. His fingers are long and thin, yes, but so is his dick, and he knows it’s nothing Caspar can’t handle. Besides, the thought of leaving him sore and aching whenever the spell wears off… 

“Do you like this?” He asks, amusedly, scissoring his fingers and watching as Caspar shoves his hips backwards to meet each half-hearted thrust. “My fingers in your ass? Opening you up?” 

“Yes,” Caspar moans, and there’s a quiver to his voice, something that Linhardt appreciates more than he’s going to say. He files it away for later, for whenever Caspar surely will ask about what happened while he was being controlled. 

Linhardt smiles, scissors his fingers a couple more times before pulling them out. Caspar’s perfectly prepared, he’s sure. 

“Look at me,” he orders, and those cloudy blue eyes meet his, “do you want my cock? Do you want me to fuck you?” 

There’s another flicker of recognition in his eyes, and Caspar dips his head in a shaky nod. Linhardt slaps him again, smiles at the way Caspar gasps, his hands awkwardly grabbing at the blankets. 

“I told you to use your voice, Caspar,” he chides. 

“Yes,” Caspar answers, breathes, all shaky and robotic and empty. 

Linhardt climbs onto the bed now, positions himself. At this angle, Caspar is pressed into the bed, face stuffed into the pillow now that they’re not looking at each other anymore. It’s adorable, and for a moment, he forgets himself, staring down at his amazingly hot fiance, wanting nothing more than to grab him and kiss him and make love to him slowly. 

But that’s not what Caspar wants right now.  _ He wants this,  _ Linhardt reminds himself. And so he gets on his knees, runs his hands along Caspar’s hips, kneads his fingers into that gorgeous ass. 

And in one quick motion, he slides his cock into that tight ass and groans. 

It’s such a different experience, being completely in charge. Caspar does nothing more than gasp into his pillow, his body quivering as Linhardt holds his hips in place. 

“Be loud,” Linhardt says, and he snaps his hips once, testingly. 

This time, Caspar moans, loud and wailing, and he lifts his face from the pillow to turn, staring at Linhardt. His cheeks are flushed red, and his eyes still cloudy and fogged over from the potion. Linhardt has no idea how long it’s going to last. 

“Better.” 

He begins a slow pace, savoring the feel of Caspar’s ass around his cock, warm and tight and lightly squeezing every time he bottoms out. Caspar is always so fast and rough, it’s actually nice to be able to take his time without hearing his fiance whine. 

He only begins to move quicker whenever he catches sight of Caspar’s own cock, hard and aching, untouched between his legs. It’s pressed flush against the bed, and Caspar’s not doing a thing about it, which is just so strange. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” He asks, lazily, snapping his hips forward with a toss of his head and a loud moan. 

Caspar doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. The ability to decide whether or not he wants to be touched must be too complex for the potion. Linhardt slaps him anyways. His ass actually  _ jiggles _ this time, and he snorts, amused. 

“Good boys answer their master,” he scolds, but he’s already snaking one hand around Caspar’s hips to wrap around his cock, stroking it lazily in time with his thrusts. 

Caspar whines, bucks into the touch like he’s fucking his hand, and it’s so hot, Linhardt lets him. 

“What a little slut,” he shakes his head, “is my dick in your ass not enough? Are you so desperate that you need my hand too?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. 

“Need you,” Caspar answers, and he sounds like  _ himself _ , and Linhardt nearly jumps at how pleasant it sounds. Saints, it’s only been an hour, and already he misses the sound of Caspar’s normal voice. 

And Caspar is staring at him still - his neck  _ must  _ ache at the angle, it’s so awkward - and the combination of his flushed cheeks and empty eyes and the studded collar against his neck as Linhardt groan, thrusting just a little bit harder. 

“You can look at the bed again,” he says, soothingly, “don’t hurt yourself on my behalf.” 

Caspar snaps his head back to bury it in the pillows, and he’s just as attractive like this. Linhardt traces one hand over the handprints on his ass, the other still lazily stroking Caspar’s leaking cock, and he’s already so close. So, so close. 

He angles himself just a little bit differently, twists his hand around Caspar’s dick and fists him with a passion, and then Caspar’s shaking, moaning loudly into the pillow. 

And Linhardt can tell that he’s far too close to spilling over, so he leans forward as much as he can, lowers his voice. “Come for me.” 

Caspar wails loudly, and then he’s coming into Linhardt’s hand, his hips spasming, his ass clenching hard on Linhardt’s cock. It’s just the stimulation that Linhardt needed, and he gasps loudly as he releases as well, hips stuttering to a stop as he spills into him. 

“ _ Fuck,  _ Caspar,” he moans, hesitating for a moment before pulling out, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. “Clean me up, will you?” 

Caspar takes his cum-covered hand, pauses, and then takes it into his mouth. It is, decidedly, not what Linhardt had ordered, but it fits underneath the umbrella of “clean me up”, and it’s nice to see him gaining some semblance of free thought. 

Caspar sucks his hand, cleaning it with his tongue, and then he moves on. He doesn’t use his mouth anywhere else, just stares pointedly at his own mess. And goddess, the sight of him still fully naked aside from the collar, ass dripping with cum, has Linhardt salivating again. If he weren’t tired out, he’d be willing to go another round, easily. 

“Towels are in the second drawer, bottom left,” he says, tiredly, reaching up to pull the ribbon out of his hair and let it spill around his shoulders. 

Caspar nods, moving to pull a towel free. He mops up the now-stained blankets, presses the towel against his own ass, before setting it aside. 

“Come here, lay down,” Linhardt orders. 

Caspar lays down. His eyes are still cloudy, still so empty. Linhardt’s tired of it. He likes this - oh, he likes this, it’s such a nice stress relief - but he’s ready to see his Caspar again. 

“Cuddle with me.” 

Caspar takes Linhardt into his arms at the order, and Linhardt curls his head against his bare chest, tangles their legs together. 

In the morning, Caspar will surely ask about what had happened. Linhardt can’t wait to see the thrill in his eyes when he finds out that Linhardt used him just like he wanted, the shame whenever Linhardt tells him about how much of a slut he had been. 

But for now, Linhardt just tilts his head up, captures Caspar’s lips with his own. “Sleep,” he mumbles against them. 

For now, they’ll sleep. 


End file.
